


it's not like a tree (when the roots have to end)

by ixalit



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Whump, World War II, field medicine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:41:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26883049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ixalit/pseuds/ixalit
Summary: Steve scans those trees for a glimpse of blue fabric, the shine of a rifle. Thereneedsto be something. Bucky will saunter up any moment with a cocky grin, sling an arm over Steve’s shoulders, and make the same tired quip about how he used to fit under there“just like a snug li’l bug in a rug.”Bucky’ll show up and prove to Steve that everything’s fine. Everything’s okay. Everything’s—“Steve?”Steve whirls around, hands poised for a fight without the shield, but it’s just Bucky; no hostiles. He’s standing there, safe, leaning against a tree not ten feet away.“Bucky.”He’s upright and alive and Steve can finally breathe. “Thank fuck, I was starting to—”“Steve,” Bucky says louder, more insistent. “Don’t panic, okay?”-See the end notes for a summary with spoilers and detailed information about trigger warnings.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 29
Kudos: 233
Collections: Whumptober





	it's not like a tree (when the roots have to end)

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thank you to [darter_blue](/users/darter_blue/), [TrekChik](/users/trekchik/), [cantabile-l](/users/cantabile_l/), and [the_gods_wife](/users/the_gods_wife/) for the wonderful beta'ing and hype!
> 
> Written for Whumptober 2020 for the prompts 7 (carrying), 10 (blood loss), 20 (field medicine), and and alternate prompts 3 (comfort), 4 (stitches), and 14 (shot). 
> 
> Remember to take care of your reading experience. If you're unsure of any of the subjects or tags, please see the end notes for a summary with spoilers and detailed information about the triggers.

“Steve!” Bucky shouts over the gunfire, pulling Steve’s attention back from the field. “Time to get back to the cave!” He fires off another two shots, hitting one of his targets square in the chest and clipping the other’s carotid.

Steve nods and surveys the forest around them. Things are starting to calm down, only a few more agents to weed out. The once peaceful clearing now torn with bullets, frozen ground strewn with bodies and marred with spilled blood. 

The Howlies had used the same play as usual, ambushing the operatives on their own turf after luring them out into the open. Soon, they’ll breach the now nearly empty base and gather whatever intelligence they can before torching it. 

Steve quickly runs through likely scenarios in his mind, recalculating angles and reviewing tactics. He and Bucky are on the small hill Bucky had chosen as his perch for this mission, crouched behind a fallen tree. Not the worst place, but they should make a run for it. Draw out the agents hiding in the trees so the others can pick them off. 

Adjusting his grip on the shield, Steve shouts back, “What about you?”

“I’m right behind you,” Bucky yells as he lines up another shot. Steve wets his lips, watching the bullet make a clean hit, right between the man’s eyes. The target drops gracelessly, crumpling backwards to the waiting bed of pine needles. Bucky dismantles his rifle and slings it over his shoulder, still crouched behind the rock. He gives Steve a hard look. _“Go.”_

Steve nods and breaks into a run, immediately making himself a moving target. Harder to shoot. 

He never liked running—never _could_ run most of his life, even if he wanted to—but if there’s one thing the serum is good for, it’s sprinting like a madman. Steve’s legs blur underneath him, barely touching the ground before lifting again, arms pumping in time at his sides; muscles and lungs and heart all working together to make him feel like he’s flying. Behind him, Steve hears barked orders and the whistle of bullets, and underneath that, the faint crunching of Bucky’s footfalls, not far behind him. 

It’s not far to the cave—a quarter mile as the crow flies—and even with his slower pace for Bucky, Steve makes it there in less than a minute. He slows to a jog for the last stretch before ducking under the rock. It’s a shallow cave, with dark stone sheltering a dusty floor from the cold wind. When they’d decided to make it home base, Gabe had pointed out it was technically more of an overhang. After some good-natured teasing, they’d agreed on naming it “The Cave” for the sole reason that it sounded cooler. 

Leaning against the wall, Steve nods to Morita, who’s in the far corner readying their gear for the next stage of the mission, making sure the radios are working right. His pulse thrums through his body, almost as loud as the rapid pops of gunfire he’d left behind, adrenaline thick and bitter on his tongue. He can’t keep the grin off his face, propping his shield against the rock wall and letting out a huff of a laugh. 

It’s exhilarating, fighting. Always has been, especially alongside Bucky Barnes. And now that his body is more than capable of a _fair_ fight… Well, nothing beats that feeling. It’s like every cell in his body comes alive, vibrating with potential at the threat of danger, the promise of action. 

“S’Bucky with you?” Morita asks. It shakes Steve from his thoughts; wipes the smile right off his face. He’d been so caught up in his head, riding high on the feeling, that he stopped tracking Bucky’s footsteps. That alone is unusual, especially in a fight. He made a promise when they started, to always have Bucky’s six, no matter what. 

Steve peers out into the trees, hackles rising. Bucky is fast when he needs to be, wasn’t that far behind him when they were running, yet he still hasn’t made it to the cave. 

There may have been a noise that made Steve jog toward a specific spot, but he couldn’t tell you what it was. More likely, it’s his inherent awareness of Bucky, his true north. Always able to find him, whether that’s picking him out of a crowd on Coney Island or honing in on a seemingly random tree in the Bohemian Forest. 

He scans those trees for a glimpse of blue fabric, the shine of a rifle. There _needs_ to be something. Bucky will saunter up any moment with a cocky grin, sling an arm over Steve’s shoulders, and make the same tired quip about how he used to fit under there _“just like a snug li’l bug in a rug.”_ Bucky’ll show up and prove to Steve that everything’s fine. Everything’s okay. Everything’s—

“Steve?”

Steve whirls around, hands poised for a fight without the shield, but it’s just Bucky; no hostiles. He’s standing there, safe, leaning against a tree not ten feet away. _“Bucky.”_ He’s upright and _alive_ and Steve can finally breathe. “Thank fuck, I was starting to—”

“Steve,” Bucky says louder, more insistent. “Don’t panic, okay?”

“What’re you—”

“Slight… Slight problem.” Bucky grimaces as he slowly pulls his hand away from his side, fingers shining dark red. 

Blood. That’s _blood_ and _Bucky_ and Steve freezes. His mind grinds to a halt and starts reeling simultaneously, replaying in painstaking detail every second he didn’t have eyes on Bucky; showing him everything he could have done differently. Letting Bucky go first, or giving him the shield, or even just not going so _fucking fast._

Bucky starts to sway forward, legs wobbling, and Steve barely snaps out of it in time to shout “Bucky!” as he runs to his side. 

The next moments are a blur, Steve’s nightmare come to life—mixing with his memories. Phantom sounds of city streets and back alley fights fill the forest around him. Or maybe that’s just in his mind. Distantly, he hears himself talking, saying useless things like, _“I gotcha, s’okay, Buck. Don’t worry, you’re g’nna be fine, you’ll see. G’nna be just fine.”_

He wraps an arm around Bucky’s shoulders; another under his knees. Lifting him effortlessly, Steve calls out for Morita as he carries the one person who’s always carried him. Steve’s stumbling even though his legs should be the strongest of any man, his ears ringing. The only thing he can focus on is Bucky’s breath, warm against his neck. It means Bucky is alive, and Steve will do anything to keep it steady. 

Morita meets them at the edge of the cave, pushing Steve over to the medical bag. Sharp pain blossoms in his knees when he falls to the stone floor with a thud, Bucky still cradled to his chest, still warming Steve’s neck with ragged puffs of air. Still breathing. 

Someone’s trying to pull Bucky from him. They’re trying to _take Bucky away,_ and all Steve can think is _“NO”_ as he tightens his arms and rounds his shoulders, curling his body around Bucky’s. It’s Morita’s face inches from his own, hands prying open Steve’s fingers where they’re tightly curled in Bucky’s jacket, that finally brings the world back into focus. 

“—eve! Cap, listen to me! You _need_ to let go, okay? I need to see how bad Barnes is hurt. _Steve!”_

“I…” Steve can’t talk. He’s useless right now, in the face of Bucky’s blood, and all the serum-induced strength in the world can’t make it better. 

In a detached sort of way, Steve wonders why this is affecting him so strongly. Why he can’t just snap out of it, get a grip. He needs to be a leader here; a captain. _Their_ captain. Since the formation of the Howling Commandos all those months ago, all of them have suffered too many injuries to count, with Steve and Bucky’s numbers exceeding the rest by miles. But Steve heals quick nowadays, a stab wound akin to a scratch, and the worst Bucky’s had was when a stray bullet grazed his thigh that first week. He’d said it hurt like a motherfucker, but he healed faster than anyone had expected and ended up with barely a scar. 

This… This _hole_ in Bucky’s side is so much worse than anything Steve’s seen up close. He knows it’s a war and people getting shot and dying is a part of his life now, but this isn’t supposed to happen to _him_ . Not to _them._ Not to Bucky Barnes, the sweet kid from Brooklyn; the strong man who finished the fights Steve started, who cleaned Steve up and never left his side. 

Dear god, please. _Not his Bucky._

Morita eases Bucky from Steve’s arms and lays him out on the ground. He works efficiently, peeling Bucky’s jacket back, gingerly lifting his shirt out of the way. He washes the worst of the blood away with splashes from his canteen before ripping open a sulfa packet. 

With everything Morita’s seen, all he’s experienced and endured, Steve sometimes forgets the man is a year younger than him. Out of all of the Commandos, Morita’s hands are by far the steadiest with this type of thing. It’s why they made him their unofficial field medic; why Steve trusts him with Bucky’s life as much as he could ever trust anyone. 

“Focus, Cap,” Morita says firmly. “I need you here.” 

_Focus._ He can do that. For Bucky, he will do it. 

Steve nods once, swallowing his overflowing panic. “Tell me what to do.”

Morita unzips their bag of clean gauze, pulls a few sheets out, and packs it onto the wound, ignoring Bucky’s hiss of pain. “I need you to put pressure on this while I get supplies,” Morita says as he grabs both of Steve’s hands and presses them to the dressing. 

Steve glances down at his own torso. When he was holding Bucky, the side with the gunshot was pressed tight against his body. Now, Steve’s leather jacket hangs open to reveal the white stripes of the American flag stained with his best friend’s blood. 

He looks up at Morita again; can’t bring himself to look at his hands yet. He’s their captain—he’s _the_ captain—but Steve needs direction on this. Needs someone else to know what to do, to know how to help. 

Some of that must be written in his expression, because Morita actually pauses. Kneeling, half turned toward the gear, his face softens. “It’s not that bad, Cap,” he says. “Hit muscle an’ fat more’n anything else; didn’t hit anything major, far as I can tell. I think he’ll be fine, alright? He heals more like you than any’a the rest of us, and you know how stubborn he is ‘bout dyin’ out here.”

Steve finally looks down at his hands, holding the cloth against Bucky’s side. It’s almost soaked through already, the blood still warm when it reaches Steve’s fingers, and Morita quickly adds another piece of gauze on top of it, never letting Steve stop the pressure. 

“You really think he’ll be okay?” Steve asks quietly, barely aware he’s spoken at all. He’s focused on Bucky’s face now. How pale he is, sweat beading on his forehead; body slack from blood loss but face pinched tight as he groans against the pain. 

“I do,” Morita says as he stuffs a wool blanket under Bucky’s head. He spreads another over his shoulders and a third over his legs, tucking them in tight around Bucky’s body. “But we need to stop the bleeding. So press down.”

“I am—” 

_“Harder.”_

Steve sucks in a breath through gritted teeth. His eyes are fixed on Bucky’s face, but he has to look away. He knows pressing harder will cause pain probably worse than the shot itself, and he can’t do this if he has to watch it play across Bucky’s face. 

Through half-lidded eyes, Bucky peers up at him and swallows thickly. He nods once, almost imperceptible and mumbles, “S’alright,” lips barely moving. 

There’s a featherlight touch against Steve’s wrist and he looks down at his hands once more. He watches with something like surprised wonder as Bucky covers Steve’s hands with one his own, weak and shaky, and presses gently down. 

Steve clenches his jaw and nods grimly back. Gathering courage deep in his lungs, Steve closes his eyes and whispers, “Sorry Buck.” Then he leans forward. Puts his weight behind it as he presses his hands down hard against the wound. Bucky’s scream bounces and echoes around the cave, ringing in Steve’s ears long after it devolves into whimpers. 

He grips Steve’s wrist until he can’t, limp hand falling to the ground when the pain becomes too great. 

* * *

Gabe had been the first of the Commandos to come back. He’d been sporting a big, victorious smile that was wiped clean off his face when he caught sight of Bucky, motionless on the floor of the cave. Morita had told Steve to leave, get some air; he and Gabe could manage. In one of his less proud moments, Steve had growled at Morita and told him where he could shove it. He still got pushed aside, Gabe taking his place holding the reddened bandages against Bucky’s skin. 

Now, as Steve leans heavily against the cold stone wall, he remembers how he’d found himself sitting at Bucky’s shoulders. How he’d delicately lifted Bucky’s head into his lap, where it still rests. He remembers resolutely deciding to look no lower than Bucky’s face as the others worked. Bucky’s eyes are still closed, like they’ve been since he passed out from the pain. As Steve’s gaze wanders over his face, it always comes back to rest on his eyes, searching for a flicker, a twitch, _something_ to signal his return to consciousness. Longing for a glimpse of that extraordinary blue-gray that made Steve’s breath catch when he’d seen it for the first time after the serum. 

Steve cards his fingers through Bucky’s hair, traces the almost peaceful lines of his unconscious face. He looks like he’s merely sleeping. If it weren’t for the blood etched in the creases of Steve’s hands, he might even believe it. 

Now that it’s over, Steve is exhausted down to his bones, a wave of tiredness that’s been spreading through him since Morita and Gabe finished their work. He wants to lay in Bucky’s arms like he used to. Curl into Bucky’s chest and breathe him in, comforted by fantasies that everything will be okay, so long as they have each other. He feels the pull in every one of his cells, but the serum makes him able. Able to stay awake and alert. Able to protect Bucky, like Bucky used to protect him. Like he failed to before. 

Flashes keep coming back to him as he sits with Bucky. He remembers Gabe and Morita getting the bleeding under control enough to dig into Bucky’s side and find the bullet. 

_(“Don’t look, Cap,” Morita had said. “It’s better if you don’t look.”_

_Steve had bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut, but the sound still made bile burn sharp in the back of his throat.)_

He remembers breaking his own rule and glancing up when they started stitching. 

_(The shiny silver needle piercing Bucky’s flesh and pulling through. The thread immediately stained red, each stitch tugging the small hole closed. The repetitive motions of Morita’s hand had held Steve captive, caught in a loop of pain, shock, and, above all, anger toward himself._

_He’d sat transfixed, silently berating himself until Morita was sprinkling the sulfa powder. Only then did he notice the blunt throb of his own fingernails pressing into his palms.)_

Steve lifts one hand from Bucky’s face to rub at his own. The others had come back at some point in all the chaos, but he hadn’t fully noticed until now. They’re gathered in a circle against the opposite wall, talking in hushed voices while Dum Dum points to a map spread on the ground. Steve goes around the circle in a quick headcount—Dum Dum, Gabe, Falsworth, Darnier, and Morita. All safe. Considering how he handled Bucky’s injury, Steve doesn’t know what he’d have done if something had happened to one of them, too.

Seeing Bucky like that had affected him more than he’d been prepared for, and that’s on him, but maybe what clinched the deal was that it was _Bucky._ God knows Steve’s seen blood before. Not even counting all his fights back home, he’s spent time in the med tent, seen his share of grueling field injuries. Blood has never made him sick, and he doesn’t shy away from the topic of death. Even when his ma died, he hadn’t felt like this. Like his identity is threatening to splinter into a million different pieces, each flung far and wide across the cold, dark universe. The only time Steve had even come _close_ to feeling this way was that time he’d knocked on death’s door at sixteen. 

The doctor had forbidden any visitors, but Bucky had inevitably pushed through. Steve remembers the priest pulling him from Steve’s doorway; dragging him back down the hall despite both boys’ protests. When Bucky had seen Steve’s weak, sickly frame under the blankets… Well, that stricken face has been ingrained in Steve’s memory ever since. 

The two events, while vastly different and a decade apart, do have one thing in common. Bucky. 

It makes sense, really. The boy Steve has known—has _loved_ —since childhood is bound to have more strings in Steve’s heart than anyone else. Before Steve even realized he’d handed it over, Bucky Barnes held Steve’s soul in his hands. Whether he was trying or not, Bucky has treasured it, _nurtured_ it since before he knew how; before either of them knew what that meant. 

Something moves beneath Steve’s fingers, just a tiny twitch of muscle. He looks down, ready to soothe away whatever tension’s appeared in Bucky’s face, but stops short, heart leaping into his throat. There it is, the sign he’s been waiting for since he lost it; that breathtaking stormy blue, peering up at him through half-opened eyelids. 

Steve lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. It feels like coming home. 

“Hi.” Steve curls further over Bucky, closer to his upside down face. Shelters him in the circle of his arms as if he can be Bucky’s shield, protecting him from any hurt, keeping the world at bay. 

He combs the hair from Bucky’s clammy forehead while he reaches under the blanket, taking hold of Bucky’s hand—the one that had grasped Steve’s wrist—and pressing a soft kiss against his knuckles. 

Bucky licks his dry lips, and Steve brings his canteen to Bucky’s mouth. He holds up Bucky’s head and tips the bottle steadily as Bucky takes a slow sip, then two, before turning away with a grimace. 

“What… Wha’ happened?” Bucky slurs, so quiet Steve wouldn’t have heard without his enhancements. 

“You were shot,” Steve whispers back. “But it’s okay. You— you’re okay.” Despite his best efforts, his voice breaks on the last word, Bucky’s face clouding as Steve’s vision fills with unshed tears. 

Bucky hums. “S’okay, doll. Don’t go gettin’ soft on me, now,” he tries for a smile, but it turns into a wince and he hisses through the pain. 

“Shh. Don’t have’ta talk.” Despite Steve’s exhaustion and the pain etched on Bucky’s face, Steve finds himself smiling. Just a small, private thing, but it’s there. “M’glad you’re okay, Buck,” he says in a voice so quiet that when Bucky hums in response, Steve’s surprised he even heard it. 

Bucky’s eyes slip closed once more, but this time it’s okay; Steve knows he’ll see them again. He squeezes Bucky’s hand and slips it back under the wool blankets, tucking them tighter around Bucky’s shoulders. 

Dum Dum gets to his feet and stretches with an exaggerated groan. He walks over and stops a foot from Steve, hands on his hips. “Sarge awake?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Yeah, he um… He opened his eyes for a bit.”

“Glad to hear it.” Dum Dum smiles behind his big mustache, making both sides move as if it’s alive. Bucky always says he’s got an animal on his upper lip, and it’s times like these that Steve has to agree. 

After a beat, Steve clears his throat. “About the mission,” he says in his best Captain voice. The men have always seen through his authority to his inexperience, but it never hurts to act the part. As long as they respect his rank back at camp, Steve is happy to rely on them in the field. 

Dum Dum gives Steve a hard look. “We’ll handle the mission, kid,” he says. “Special circumstances, right? You stay with him” —he nods to Bucky— “and Jim’ll leave you a radio ‘case any trouble comes around.”

“But I—“

“What, you think we sat around twiddlin’ our thumbs all day before you came along?” He laughs once, echoed several feet away by chuckles from the eavesdropping men. “We’ll be fine, Cap. Plus—we’ve got Dernier. All else fails, that crazy motherfucker can blow the goons to high Hell.” 

Steve hears Gabe translating, followed shortly by Dernier’s gasp of feigned indignation. 

Steve looks down at Bucky. He wouldn't be surprised if he’s still conscious, listening to every word and poised to open his mouth if Steve refuses to stay put. 

He could go. Override Dum Dum and take his anger out on the people who caused it. No doubt that’s what he would do if the bullet had hit Bucky two inches to the left; if things had ended differently. It’s what the Steve Rogers of Brooklyn would have done without a second thought. But he’s not that Steve anymore, and things didn’t end differently—didn’t end at all. 

Fighting this war has taught him the importance of a team; what it means to have more than one person to carry the world with him. And the truth is, he probably wouldn’t be particularly helpful in a fight right now, beyond his strength. He’d be too preoccupied with Bucky and wrapped up in revenge to think clearly about tactical approaches or intelligence gathering. 

The truth is, they can handle this one. It’s a small base, probably less than fifteen agents left inside, and they’re an elite group, specially trained for this. At the end of the day, Dum Dum, Morita, Gabe, Falsworth, and Dermier are damn good soldiers—damn good _men—_ and Steve… he trusts them. It’s as simple as that. 

“We’ve been goin’ over the plan, makin’ sure it still works without you and Sarge,” Dum Dum continues, but Steve’s face must show his decision plain as day because he nods and bends down to clap Steve on the shoulder. “Already killed most’a them, so it shouldn’t take long, but you’ve got the radio in case you need anything.”

Steve holds Dum Dum’s eyes and nods as he says, “You too. If you need me, I’m a short run away.”

As the rest of the Commandos gather their weapons and gear, Steve remains on the ground with Bucky resting in his lap. He mindlessly twirls the short strands of Bucky’s hair around his fingers, reminding himself every other second that he’s okay, he’s alive, he’s _here._

The others give him looks—of course they do—but like always, no one says anything. He and Bucky are close, everybody knows that. It’s just a fact among them, established the moment they met, when Steve invaded a Prisoner of War camp on foot, no backup, just to save Bucky, and Bucky refused to leave his side for the entire return journey. 

Maybe they look the other way, shrug and ignore their speculations, because they’ve all been slapped with an ‘other’ label at one point or another. They were all chosen because they met in a prison camp, saw their differences, and put their reservations aside for the good of the many. They worked together then and they’ve continued to do so out of respect and camaraderie. Duty. 

Or maybe what Bucky always says is right, and Steve’s naiveté in war is shining through. Maybe they just don’t want to speak out against the government’s pet, Captain America. Steve likes to think he’s right and Bucky’s just being cynical, but either way, they keep it under wraps, same as they always have. 

Steve sighs and pets the backs of his fingers over Bucky’s cheek. There’s no trendy fashion in war, and he’s been letting his stubble grow in more. It scratches lightly under Steve’s fingers as he runs them down Bucky’s jaw to his neck, feels the blood pumping steadily under his skin. 

Morita hangs back a few steps from the others as they file out the door. “Check his dressing every half hour or so and don’t let him move much,” he says. Then he squats down to Steve’s level, looks him dead in the eye, and holds out his right hand. “Don’t worry, Cap. We’ll get one point blank for Sarge. Promise,” he says solemnly. 

Steve takes a deep breath and shakes his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, kudos, comments, and shares are greatly appreciated :)
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr [@ixalit](https://ixalit.tumblr.com)
> 
> Summary with spoilers/trigger details:
> 
> The story starts with a fight between Hydra operatives and the Howling Commandos. Bucky and Steve run back to their “home base” to attract fire and reveal the positions of the operatives. Steve makes it back okay, but Bucky gets shot in the side, just above his hip. It doesn’t hit any major organs or bone and is not described in graphic detail, but there is blood and pain. 
> 
> Steve carries him back to the cave (home base), where Morita is getting things ready for the next part of their mission. Morita fixes Bucky up, the aspects of which aren’t described in much detail, just basic information. Steve goes into shock a bit and dissociates for most of what Morita does, but later remembers the sound of Morita extracting the bullet and what he saw when Morita was suturing. 
> 
> Steve remembers a time when he was sick as a teenager, but again, not in graphic detail. It’s mostly there to illustrate how Steve is affected by Bucky. The rest is comfort and doesn’t have any major warnings.


End file.
